At my place, with you
by AirborneGirl
Summary: After years of flirting, innuendo and foreplay, it's finally happening between you and your partner. But will it be an itch to scratch, or fo you trust him enough for your 'thing' to become more. Rating for obvious reason.


**At my place, with you**

**AN**: Just a warning: This is pure, unadulterated, not watered down smut. And I think (not to sound too cocky) I'm getting the hand of it. Judge for yourself. Hope it works for you.

**Spoilers**: Set at the end of episode 5.19 "Recovery"

**Disclaimer**: Oh, the things I would do to Marty Deeks, if only he were mine…sadly, he's not. Neither is Kensi Blye, or the wonderful show of NCIS: LA. Sadly, I can only write about them. Good side: you can enoy it! Hope you do…on we go…

You must have heard it incorrectly, right? Right? This simply cannot be true. It must have been the background noise of your heart pounding loudly and way too fast in your ears. Because no matter how you look at it, he simply can not have said those words.

Except that you know that he did.

It's far from his usual M.O., far from the unspoken agreement that your 'thing' should carefully remain unaddressed. So far that you now find yourself paralyzed, unable to decide what to do or say, if anything at all.

A thousand thoughts run through your head, colliding and bouncing off of each other, too fast and too fleeting to grasp any of them. You drift aimlessly amongst your indecision and it terrifies you.

The options themselves are easy. They're twofold. Either you acknowledge his statement or you ignore it. Simple.

But if you ignore it, you'll lose him. There's no way you can joke yourself out of this, regardless of the fact that he's the designated joker of the two of you. Your sense of humor leaves a lot to be desired on a good day, which you're not sure this is.

To lose him is worse than losing a limb though; it's unthinkable. Which means that in some way, you'll have to acknowledge what he just said.

But how? It's an insult to both of you to ask him to elaborate. You don't need subtitles or a freakin' manual to understand what's being implicated, as much as it's outrageous to deny that the idea has never crossed your mind before. There wouldn't be a 'thing' if you had ever, even once upon a time, really believed it would never come to this moment; a moment you almost forced himself into, come to think of it.

Yet, can you actually do it? Now that push has finally and irreversibly come to shove, can you handle it? You're sure nobody would ever call you a coward in your face, but you've never before felt like one either. Until now. Now all you want is to run as fast as you can away from this restaurant and wake up tomorrow with the sure knowledge that this has all been a dream, just a dream.

Right. This is no dream, Kensi Blye. And if you for once have the guts to admit it; you don't want it to be. God help you, but the moment his admission came out of his way too kissable mouth, you knew exactly where this would end and you WANTED it to end there too.

Oh how you want it!

All the while, he's waiting for an answer, head tilted to one side and a vulnerable, perhaps even scared look in his eyes. He's taken a huge leap of faith here; the stakes are just as high for him as they are for you.

Either way, he deserves an answer.

Speaking is something you're quite incapable of, so instead, you choose action, because well, it's supposed to speak louder than words anyway. Legs wobbling slightly, you slide from your seat and give your partner one more sultry look, before heading for the door.

You're waiting for the valet to bring the car back up front when he catches up with you. He lets his hand slip in yours in a surprisingly sweet, intimate gesture. When you dare glance at him, he gives you a warm, albeit hesitant smile and you smile back.

Yes, you're really doing this. And it'll be okay. No, scratch that, it'll be spectacular. It has to be, because anything else won't do justice to all the wanting and waiting and hoping.

When the car is pulled up in front of you, he tips the valet attendant and gallantly opens the passenger door. Under any other circumstances you would have lifted one eyebrow at the gesture, because since when do you not drive, but in this case, it might be better if you don't. Though you can't be sure he's much better off, considering his shaking hand and out of character silence. Not to mention the small (or not so small) fact he's trying to hide the obvious effect you have on him.

The drive over to his place is a long stretch of tension filled thickness neither one of you seems to know how to break through. It makes you fidgety and simply for lack of any better idea, you let you hand rest on his thy, amazed by the firmness of the muscles underneath the jeans, as well as the small hiss leaving his lips when you give him a soft squeeze.

A surge of pride rushes down your spine to end up in a damp spot in your underwear at the sight of the growing bulge in his jeans. You squeeze again, a little higher this time but decide to stop teasing him when he yelps and the car almost swerves off the road. He curses underneath his breath, droplets of sweat forming on his forehead as he tries to focus on the road instead of the tightness in his crotch.

He does, however, retaliate. Payback's a bitch and this one has a serious bite. With one hand draped lazily over the steering wheel, his right hand deftly opens the button of your jeans, pulls the zipper down and makes its way underneath the material of both your jeans and the black silk panties you happen to be wearing today, grinning like mad when he feels the moisture and the heat radiating from the spot where you just crave his touch… you might even open your legs a little further to grant him easier access, moaning as his fingers ghost over rapidly swelling folds, teasing them with the promise of so much more pleasure to endure.

The Gods are with you today. You make it to his apartment in one piece. As he wrenches his hand from their burning resting place, both of you groan at the loss if the intimate contact. Another groan escapes your lips when the bastard licks off his fingers, one by one.

"Hmmm."

This time, you don't allow him to be chivalrous as you jump from the car, your need as great as his; just not as directly visible unless you detect your panties, which have passed the stage of dampness and progressed into being completely drenched.

A part of you is screaming loudly about all the ways this is not going to end well, that you can still run for it, that bruising his ego won't be as bad as facing the consequences of your actions in the morning. Then you reach his front door and he's reached you and he turns you around so that your back is pressed against his door and then his lips are on yours and any and all reasons why this is the most stupid idea ever fly straight out the window.

This is right. This is good, so, sooo good.

Without breaking the kiss, he pulls his keys out of his pocket, hissing as the action brushes the fabric of his jeans over his already straining cock and blindly tries to get the key in the lock, no pun intended. Finally, the door clicks open and you giggle (yes, you giggle!), when you stumble in, still intent on remaining attached at the mouth. You can feel his smirk against your lips. Oh yeah, he is enjoying the fact he can turn bad-ass Blye into a high school girl with her first crush.

He spins you around to push you against the door again, this time on the inside, but he does break your kiss. Before you can moan in disappointment, you squeak in surprise when his mouth finds the sweet spot in your neck and nips at it, teeth grazing and soft lips smoothing the scratch. Oh shit…he's way too good at this. You go from drenched to dripping. It's embarrassing, really, or it would be if you could bring yourself to care.

He grins, switches to the other side and latches on. It's sure to leave a mark, one that won't be easy to hide unless you're wearing a ton of make-up or a turtleneck, a piece of clothing you don't even own because this is freaking California! But again, but you don't care. You'll can worry about the ramifications later, but you'll just shoot him if he stops now.

When he does, you whimper. With a quick peck on your lips, he reassures you the fun's not over yet, before concentrating on unbuttoning your shirt and sliding it off your shoulders. The clasp of your bra gives way under pressure and he tosses both garments somewhere near the vicinity of the couch, not watching where they land, which is of no consequence to either one of you. You stand before him, deliciously naked from the waist up. You know you don't have anything to be ashamed of, yet your breath hitches when you see the reverent look in his eyes.

"Wow, Kens, you're…wow."

He grins stupidly at you for a moment, drooling just a little and resembling his dog Monty more than ever, before he wakes up from his stupor long enough to decide to put his mouth to better work. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, his lips trail down from the beauty of a hickey he created in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, along your collarbone to the soft swelling of your breast. A sound reminiscent of a kitten's mewl falls from your lips and you'll be stricken dead if the bastard doesn't revel in it too!

His scruff tickles your tender skin pleasantly, but nothing has prepared you for the sweet sensation of his warm mouth encompassing the swollen flesh of your nipple. Forget about the liquid pooling in your belly, you're all jelly now, enough to cause your knees to give.

Feeling rather than seeing you stumble, he chuckles. One moment later, you're lifted off your feet and being carried to the bed. Like he's done undercover, you expect him to unceremoniously drop you onto the mattress, but quite to your surprise, he puts you down as if you're as delicate as a rose petal. When you dare look in his eyes, you're shocked to see so much more than just open lust in his eyes.

Suddenly, there's more going on than just a one night thing between partners unloading years of sexual tension. It's more than him putting his money where his mouth is.

It's clear and open, raw and real: Marty Deeks, your goofy, infuriating, endearing, charming and yes, sexy partner is in love with you.

This 'thing' has never been a 'thing'. Just because you're too chicken to say it out loud or even to yourself alone in the dark, doesn't mean you haven't known all along what it was. And he knows it too, he even did say it out loud, though he was almost asleep at the time.

It's a love story.

And it still terrifies you.

As always, he's quick to sense the sudden change in your behavior. With a tenderness not many people would think him capable of, he wipes a lock of hair from your face.

"Kensi?"

He swallows, already bracing himself for the inevitable moment you'll send him walking. Only, you don't want to. His eyes have never been more clear, his smile never warmer and for the love of God and him, you can't force yourself to turn him down now.

Now is the time Kensi Blye, that Wonder Woman shows real courage by opening up, making herself pliable, vulnerable to her partner. Trusting him enough to have her back in this situation as readily as in any other.

So you brace yourself, reach out your hand, clasp his and pull him onto the bed.

The atmosphere has changed now, the urgency, the frenzy is gone and what is left is a sweet, slow tenderness and promises left unspoken but clearly heard.

He kisses you again, mouth open and tongue seeking yours, coaxing it out to play. The tenderness is new to you and you feel like you're five steps ahead of him all the time. How can this man make you feel like you're a teenaged virgin all over again? Though you wish your first boyfriend had been as sweet as Deeks. You make a mental note to ask him if he remembers his first time and if he was really this sweet with her too.

Truth is, you're not good with kindness or tenderness. With Jack, sex was a means to forget. At least, for him. What it was for you, you're not quite sure, but you suspect it was a desperate means to bind him to you, which still proved to be too little.

With every date you had since then, it was a means to relax for you. Just scratching an itch with a not too bad looking guy, saying goodbye without regret and without ever seeing them again. Perhaps to some, this is a man's approach to sex and perhaps they're right about that, but Jack was the last person you tried to be feminine around and look where that had gotten you? So it was a lot easier to disregard something as fleeting as love, chalk all emotions up as hormonal gibberish and go with the moment. And go away right after that, never leaving either emotional or tangible part of yourself behind. Like you'd never been there to begin with,

Looking back, it has never been all about you as a person, about being worshipped, like Marty Deeks is doing now, with soft kisses and even softer caresses.

You are well and truly his Princess and the way he cherishes you unnerves you just as much as it excites you.

Layer by layer of clothes he peels off of you and simultaneously, layers of your painstakingly built wall crumble. You're soon naked in every sense of the word and even though you're far from a blushing maiden, you are, in fact, blushing under his appreciative gaze. He kisses your nose playfully, before turning serious again. His hand tilts your chin to gently force you to look at him.

"Kensi, has anyone ever really made love to you?"

He must know the answer already. And if his face is any indication, he doesn't like it one bit. It's odd that you never really saw Deeks as an old fashioned knight in shining armor, but yes, that's what he is. The courtesy is new and it might take some getting used to. But you want to try…dear God do you want to try.

You shake your head and he captures your lips with his.

"Will you let me?"

There's no way you can get your voice to work now, so you nod. His eyes let you know how much this step costs you; you're giving him all access, literally, putting you in the most vulnerable position any woman can find herself in. And normally, Kensi Blye doesn't do vulnerable. So for you to do it now means the world to him.

With your permission given, he softly whispers in your ear:

"Don't be afraid, Kensi love. Let me take care of you. I got your back."

Oh he does, and every inch of you in between. The jelly in your extremities starts to bubble, your mind is in a haze. You try to keep your eyes open to watch this wonderful, gorgeous man worship you, but the pleasure is so great, your eyes flutter closed. Not being able to see where his hands and lips are venturing next heightens your excitement and it seems like Deeks has miraculously grown a set of extra limbs and lips, as he's everywhere at once. While his talented mouth is still teasing your breasts (he's obsessed with them, really, but you don't mind a bit), his hands caress the soft skin of your belly, his thumb tracing circles around your belly button. The touch in itself might seem pretty innocent, yet it still brings your bubbling intestines to boiling point and you growl softly, making him chuckle.

Letting go of your left nipple, his mouth coming off with a little 'pop', he ventures down with a trail of butterfly kisses on your stomach, his scruff pleasantly tickling your over sensitive skin, making you giggle again. Deeks' grin widens upon hearing it. You immediately promise yourself you will retaliate, curious about the sounds he will make when you have your way with him.

Oh yeah, getting Marty Deeks to giggle is your new mission in life. But for now, you're more than willing to let him finish his.

His tongue toys around your belly button for a while, dipping in to elicit another incomprehensible sound from your throat. Down and down he ventures, sniffling the heady scent of your arousal as it has been pooling between your legs since you got into the car.

Yet, his patience is admirable. Okay, more like infuriating. You so desperately want him to finally get to work on your most needy parts, but he only licks a few stray drops of your moisture off the inside of your thighs, ignoring your disappointed cry as he ventures down your legs.

Your feet are not your most favorite body parts. You take care of them because, well, you have to walk and run and kick the occasional ass with them, and they need to look good in high heels if you need to seduce someone, but other than that, you hardly pay them any more attention. Once you're home, you kick off your boots, put your feet firmly on the coffee table and that's it.

To Deeks however, they must be a rare treasure, since he's studying them like an archeologist at some ancient Egyptian burial site. He tickles your soles and you almost give him a black eye when on reflex you kick out, yelping at the sensation, going surprisingly fast to your weeping folds.

So feet are erogenous zones. Apparently. As are ankles, calves and the inside of your knees. At least, that's what they magically become when one Marty Deeks is touching them, kissing and massaging them, his breath ghosting over your skin and giving you goose bumps in its wake.

Time has no meaning in this little corner of the world, so you have no idea how long it has taken him to finally settle himself between your legs, eyes and lips level with your dripping female parts. He takes some sweet time examining his new found feast.

"Wow, Kensi love, you're drenched."

No shit! Whose fault is that, Detective? And more important, what are you going to do about it? You open your mouth to tell him exactly this, but, as could be expected, no words come out. You sound like a Neanderthal, really, all moans and grunts. This man is slowly robbing you of all your common sense. Though slowly, more like the last three years…

Lucky for you, he provides you with his own answer.

"It's a good thing, seeing that I'm parched."

With that, he goes blissfully silent as he puts his mouth to work. And oh, how well that beautiful mouth of his works as he alternates between long, slow licks and quick nibbles. It's heavenly and you're getting awfully close to the brink, even if he has yet to really touch your clit.

"You taste amazing, my sweet. Give me more."

Never before have you been this wet, this wild, this desperate. You're floating somewhere between heaven and earth, feeling like a rocket which engines just got fired up and which is now waiting for the take-off.

He's relentlessly teasing you. So you strike a deal with him. It's more of a plea bargain really, emphasis on the pleading.

"You give me more, please, Marty."

He looks up, grinning.

"You never call me Marty. Say it again."

"Mar-tyyy" you whine in exasperation.

As a reward, he sticks two of his fingers inside of you, crooking them slightly to reach just the right place. Fireworks explode behind your eyelids and you squeal, another rush of wetness immediately soaking his hands, trickling down his wrist. So good.

"Good girl, Kensi. So generous."

He eagerly laps at your fluids, his fingers setting a rhythm that makes you hum deep down in your core.

"I bet I can get more sweetness out of you though."

Even before the meaning of these words can register in your foggy brain, his mouth is on your swollen nub and he suckles hard. You spasm and cry out. So good, soooo gooood.

There's no more talking now, his patience finally breaking, as well as yours. He pushes a third finger inside and increases the speed, simultaneously intensifying his suckling, never letting go of your throbbing button.

The countdown to lift-off has started in your core, the fuel burning until…

With a long wail that somewhere holds his name, you're launched straight to the stars above, gushing a constant flow of juices onto Marty's eager tongue. He's humming as he licks it all up, only slowing down his movements to let you ride out the moment.

For an undetermined time span, everything is still and quiet as you gently flow back to earth. You open your eyes groggily, wanting to thank him for this wonderful experience. You expect him to have moved from his spot between your legs, but he's still there, arrogant smirk in place. Oh well, he can take a bit of credit you suppose.

"Welcome back, Princess. Was it beautiful where you were?"

"Yeah."

Eloquent enough. It has to be, it's all you can accomplish. Perhaps, if you ever have to come down from cloud nine, you'll tell him that you hardly ever orgasm at all. Or at least not like this. Not for lack of trying on any bed partner's side (though he's the first to go down on you in many, many months), but because, as stated before, you don't like to relinquish control.

So this is some kind of breakthrough for you and you guess you should have known it would be to him you would surrender first. Because you do so daily with your life, entrusting him with your very survival; a trust he has never broken.

He smiles, a sly little smile, promising nothing good. Or everything good, whatever.

"And where were you? The moon?"

You sigh…somewhere around there.

"Well, let's see if we can aim for the sun instead. Brace yourself, Sugar Bear. You're going to melt."

What the…you mewl as his tongue once again takes its place of honor and he starts all over again. This is…oh God. You can't, can't.

Within mere seconds, you're ready for another countdown, struggling against it, begging him to stop, begging him to go on and on. It's too much, it's…

This time, you think you've gone deaf and mute, because you feel, but can't hear yourself scream as an overwhelming orgasm picks you up and shoots you back into a time and space beyond anything you've ever felt before. He's right, you're positively melting, evaporating even.

Deeks is happily slurping up another steady flow of your honey.

It's taking you a ridiculous amount of time to come to your senses and when you do (or think you do), you're certain this little trip has incinerated your very bones, leaving you with nothing but a Kensi-shaped, damping puddle of goo.

When your eyes open and slowly regain their focus, Marty's face is right next to yours, smile firmly in place. It might be a little cocky, but it's ninety percent love and awe you see in his unwavering gaze. Your heart misses a beat. Dear God, how you love this man.

"You are so beautiful."

He kisses you, again with such tenderness you want to cry and perhaps you do, because he stops mid-kiss and cups your face, thumbs trailing the tear streaks away.

"I love you, Kensi Marie Blye. You're worthy of being loved."

"Show me Marty. Love me, make love to me."

He smiles again, resuming his kissing and you would gladly kiss him until the day you die, if it wasn't for the annoying little fact that he's still dressed. With more determination than dexterity, you yank his shirt over his head, giggling (you've got to stop giggling; you're not sixteen anymore) when it gets tangled around his head, almost choking him, because he just can't or won't stop kissing you.

"Mmph."

"Quit squirming, doofus!"

He actually holds still long enough for you to discard the shirt, his blue eyes dilated and his swollen mouth set in a faux-pout. It looks adorable.

"Doofus? Really? That's hurtful."

"Awww, sorry, sweetheart. Want me to kiss it better?"

"Yes, please."

With a sigh of contentment, you pull his head toward yours and kiss him deeply, pouring all the mounting feelings you have for him into it. He responds eagerly and you can feel the heat rising in his groin behind the confinements of his jeans.

Why is he still wearing his jeans?

Fumbling slightly, you manage to wriggle your hands in between your bodies and unzip his fly, fingers reaching for his erection. He groans into your mouth as you find the intended target and give it a little squeeze.

"K-Kensi," he stutters, thrusting his hips instinctively.

"Off," you mumble back. "Take it all off."

There's no need to tell him twice. It's a shame he has to stop kissing you for a moment, but when he reveals his glorious self to your hungry eyes, you know it's worth it.

Damn, the man is beautiful.

Regardless of the scars and scratches adorning his chest (you try not to think about the many times you've almost lost him), he's perfectly fit and well-proportioned. Not as bulky as Sam and not as skinny as Eric, he has just the right amount of muscle tone and tan to make your mouth water.

And speaking of proportions…no complaints there either. His erection, standing proud and ready, twitching and weeping in anticipation, is built like he is. Perfect in length and girth.

Unabashed and perhaps a little (or a lot) proud, he lets you peruse his body.

"Like what you see, Princess?"

Oh yeah, you like. You like a lot.

"Come here."

"As you wish, my love."

With his solid body again covering yours, this time without barriers, you sigh in contentment. His lips reclaim yours, but you have other plans. Delightful as his mouth might be, you want your own lips to taste more of him. Every part of him would be good, to begin with.

Taking advantage is his distraction, you flip him over and straddle him. A question burns in his eyes and you explain with a kiss to his lips.

"You had your fun, now let me have mine."

"No complaints here, Hun-bun"

"Call me Hun-bun again and the fun's over."

"So sorry, Fern."

"Shut up, Deeks."

Wisely he does, knowing better than to argue with a woman who's so close to his aching dick and might still do more damage than joy to it.

Luckily for him, you weren't planning on doing any damage. Not when you feel like a kid in a candy store, with so many things to taste and nibble at, you don't know where to start.

So you simply start kissing whatever piece of skin strikes your fancy and soon enough you get an answer to the question you asked yourself earlier.

Yes, your partner can and does make the most interesting sounds when he's subjected to your ministrations, varying from stuttering encouragements to soft moans, to yelps when you playfully pinch his tight butt. The best sound however, comes from deep within his chest when you finally stop playing around and attend to his straining cock.

With a wicked little gleam in your eyes, you rouse him from his haze.

"Marty? Hey Marty? Watch this."

When his blurry eyes train themselves on you, you wink and give the very tip of his dick one long, slow lick, getting your first taste of the drops of pre cum he already spilled. The moan intensifies and his hand reaches out to tangle itself in your brown curls.

"Oh God, Kensi…"

"You like?"

He nods, unable to get the words out.

Getting all the confirmation you need, you wrap your lips firmly around the top again and suck hard. He bucks against your head and you put one hand on his stomach to keep him steady as you take more and more of him in. Your other hand cups his balls and starts playing with the tender flesh.

Marty's eyes roll back in their sockets as he's the one whose turn it is to surrender. And he does so gratefully and gracefully.

Now this is fun! You lick and suck him like an ice cream cone, savoring the salty taste on your tongue. He tastes like the ocean and well…Marty. And while you normally don't spoil a man with a blowjob, you love this particular man so much that you actually like it now. Only for him.

It'll be only him from now on anyway. Forever.

By now, he's gasping and straining and you can tell he's getting closer and closer to the abyss.

"K-Kensi…I…oh sweet Jesus, this is good…I-I'm close, sweetheart."

Duly noted. You brace yourself for his eruption, but with the gentlest of touches, he caresses your cheek.

"Princess, stop."

Curious and a little hurt, you let go of him, releasing his erection with a juice 'pop'.

"What? Why?"

He's surprisingly eloquent, despite of the heat raging through his veins.

"Because, unlike you, my darling, I can't do multiple orgasms in ten minutes. And I don't want to have to recuperate for half an hour before I make love to you."

You nod, warmth spreading in your belly, accompanied by a fresh wave of juices at the mere mention of making love.

"Come here, Kensi."

You kiss your way up his chest until your lips reach his once more. With one hand, he manages to open the top drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a small package.

"Allow me," you smile, taking the condom from him. Quickly, you tear the foil off and sheathe your partner, grinning as he moans at the slightest of your touches.

Once the thin rubber material is secured, you straddle him, letting the tip of him graze your sodden folds, but backing off when he lifts his hips to push in further.

"Tease."

It's half groan, half grin and it tells you clearly that you have to stop this little game if you don't want this to be over before it even starts.

So when you next sink over his straining cock, you do allow him to push further, sinking into your heated core until he's buried to the hilt inside of you.

It's all you can do not to cum right now from the sheer magnitude of finally, after so many years of flirting, innuendo and foreplay, having your partner, the man you love, exactly where you always needed him to be.

He too is completely still for a moment, gathering his wits. He's never known pleasure like this before, but that might be because he never, not even in his wildest dreams, expected it would come to this. Hoped for it, but never dared to believe in it, despite of his confident countenance.

The urge to move becomes too hard to resist, so you start a slow pace of riding him, undulating your hips to make sure he hits every sweet spot you know about. And a few more you didn't.

He meets you with every thrust, his hands resting loosely on your hips as he lets you set the tempo. Which soon proves to be way too slow as the desire increases.

It's pure Heaven, nothing, not even the two orgasms he's just so generously given you can top the feeling of having world-altering sex with Marty Deeks. Every little move, every push hits its target with missile like precision. Somewhere in the back of your mind you're worried about passing out when the undoubtedly massive orgasm will hit you, but as another ripple of pleasure reverberates through your inner walls, you forget any and all thoughts except for how amazing this feels.

He's now the one to use the fog in your brain to his advantage as he suddenly grips your hips tighter and flips you over. Without losing contact, it's now his turn to pound into you, all dexterity and gentility forgotten in the red hot need to race to that point of no return that has been looming from the moment you left the restaurant. You let him, your need as great as his own. You wrap your legs around him to allow him to push deeper, ever deeper.

"M-Marty, please!"

"I know, my sweet. It's okay. Let go."

"Cum with me?"

"Yes."

With more luck than precision, he directs his right hand between your entangled legs and finds your slick and swollen nub, grazing it with the nail of his thumb. You spasm wildly and wail. He grins, pushes himself even further inside you and flicks his thumb again.

And again.

That does it. The whole world goes from black to bright white and then simply dissolves into a tidal wave of pure pleasure. There's no screaming this time, there's not enough breath for it. You spasm all over your body, endlessly and violently. Whenever it dares to subside, Marty pushes in again and another fresh wave crashes over you.

Until he himself surrenders. With an animalistic groan, he stiffens for a split second, then empties himself in a series of wild spurts and jerky movements, before he collapses on top of you. He mumbles something that may or may not be an apology. Not that you need it, you understand his exhaustion and frankly, you don't mind the comfort of his weight pressing you down, nor the fact he's still inside of you.

Either the world has truly come to an end or both of you have indeed passed out. Whatever it is, seconds turn into minutes before he has the wherewithal to crawl off of you. You whimper at the sudden cold assaulting your bare limbs and he's quick to tug the sheets from underneath your lower body and spread it over you.

Unabashed by his nudity (not that he would have a reason to be bashful), he pads to the bathroom to get rid of the condom. You hear him wash his hands and splatter around for a few seconds. It's oddly domestic and soothing, not at all like it usually is right after you sleep with a man. You would probably already be halfway out the door, to be honest. Again, it's a sure sign that this is a whole different ballgame.

As soon as he's done in the bathroom, he strides over to the bed. There's a hint of smugness on his face, but hey, after a performance like this, he's entitled. You scoot over so he can get back in bed, staying close yet not too close, allowing him the option to either snuggle closer or back away, hoping he'll take curtain number one.

Thank God he does. It's no secret Marty Deeks is a very…eh…tactile man, but you have never dared to ask him about his post-coitus habits.

Turns out he's a snuggler. Turns out, with the right person, so are you. With a sigh of contentment, you let your head rest against his chest, your hand on his heart, feeling the beating slow down to a more normal pace.

"You okay, Princess?" he mumbles sleepily, his voice slurred.

"Yeah, I'm good. Real, real good."

You lift your head to kiss him and look him in the eyes. They're half closed, adding to the whole look of a very happy, thoroughly satisfied man.

"We do work well together, don't we partner?"

You grin at him.

"Yes, yes we do."

His expression turns serious.

"Kensi, I…I hope you're not afraid anymore. Or question my motives."

You allow yourself a moment to analyze your own feelings, coming to the happy conclusion that indeed, all doubts, all fears have been erased, hopefully (no, definitely) never coming back. So you answer sincerely.

"I don't."

"Good, because I want this. You and me. Partners, friends, lovers. I'm greedy that way. I want it all. Forever. With you."

"I know. So do I."

His face lights up like a Christmas tree. You can't fight the urge to kiss him again and really don't see the point in trying. He hums in pleasure at the touch of your lips.

"You and me, love. Let's do this."

You nod and confirm it with a kiss. And when he groans and deepens it, you let him.

Two more rounds of lovemaking follow that night, both equally rewarding. A shared shower and some breakfast in the morning after that. It feels good, natural and right. Nothing wrong with your communication now.

Neither one of you knows what the future holds. Your line of work has taught you to savor each day, since it might just be your last. And for the first time in a long time, you know that savoring the day is exactly what you want to do, as long as he's there.

At his place. With you.

THE END

_Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it. Let me know, please. And thanks for that too. I appreciate your feedback._


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